Survival
by clarabranson
Summary: Clara Branson writes erotic stories about Severus Snape while in class. He finds out about them and takes "Miss Branson" on the ride of her sex life. Severus SnapexOC oneshot OOC Severus Snape


_His head bends down to reach my lips, but he lingers, hot breath warming my face from the chill of the night air_. Yeah, I bet he would tease. If he ever got the chance...if he were ever even attracted to me. I glance up at the Professor, who takes no notice of my wandering gaze. Of course not. Although, I _am_ supposed to be doing my homework, so I suppose that he's assuming I'm just thinking.

And he's a teacher. And this is inappropriate.

"Professor Snape! Professor Snape!" Is that Draco's voice? Doesn't he ever leave Snape alone? The clambering sound of his far-too-expensive shoes against the stone flooring echoes around us more loudly than his whining voice. "Professor! Harry Potter has been sneaking around school grounds at night!"

"And why am _I_ the one that you always come to when he does something wrong...? If you think this is worthy of punishment, then go speak with Professor McGonagall. She's the _only_one who can help you." Snape leans his elbow on his writing desk, peering over my entire existence to stare at the boy like some adoptive father. As I look back to Draco from my slightly shorter desk (the one that I always push right up to and in front of the Professor's desk, at his behest), I can see his vision falter before he notices me. And that arrogant stink eye is back.

"Why is _she_ always in here?" I roll my eyes at the boy, probably provoking him, but I can't be bothered to care.

"Because I like to study and potions fascinate me." He continues to stare, unhappy with my response...probably some sort of latent jealousy over the fact that I spend more time with Snape than he does. Which is quite the feat, it seems.

"Don't you have any friends." The statement lolls off his tongue like he's answering for himself already.

"I believe friends are defined as being people you can relate to or share interests with...and can stand their company. There isn't anyone that I've met at Hogwarts that fits that description." My eyes flicker to the Professor in a moment of weakness but retrain themselves on the pompous oaf that stands before me, who seems rather into accosting me with strange inquiries that are really none of his business. "At least not in my age range."

Draco looks to Professor Snape with something of disgust ruining the boy's facial features. He'll probably grow up to be quite attractive. Aside from all of the sniveling and that very basic, idiotic nature of his being. His mouth gapes open like he's about to say something but one stern look from Snape sends the boy running off to go finish tattling on the chosen one.

First years. Honestly.

The silence rings itself into the quiet of Professor Snape's office once again and I can get back to writing what he would basically hate me forever for. As long as he doesn't find out, though, I suppose there's no harm in it. As long as no one else sees it. And since I never forget _any_of my possessions that won't be a problem. I also never seem to spend time anywhere aside from Snape's office anymore. And this is my last year here...I won't ever be able to see the Professor again. Unless I come back to teach. But is dealing with idiotic children like Malfoy worth it?

My head raises itself to stare at the subject of my thoughts. _Yep_. Worth it. His raven black hair filters over the carved features of his face, his nose dipping down slightly as he critically analyzes some third year potions work. And his eyes glide easily over the scribble and scrawl...his dark, menacing eyes. But I've noticed over the years that there's a great deal of pain in them too...like the power that he projects is simply a facade. A facade that I've always wanted to get past. I want you to open up to me, Professor.

Ugh...yes. He's my professor. I return my own eyes to my own work, writing down all of my frustrations into this smut.

"Are you always studying...?" His slow drawl draws my vision back up to meet the depth of his iris, melting all of the blood in my veins.

"No, I write stories when I'm done with my schoolwork."

"Stories...?" Mentally slapping myself _so_hard right now. And I'm sure the stretching that my eyelids are doing is totally giving me away as well.

"Ah...yeah..." My vision falters, landing on his desk and then to mine before I place my quill down.

"May I see?" And again, my attention is so easily attained by him. He's just so...spellbinding...

"Well, you're busy grading papers, Professor."

"I can take a few moments to read over something that one of my favourite students has made up."  
"N-no, it's not really ready to be looked at-"  
"And that's a rather good thing, then. I can tell you what you need to fix before you get to a stage where you might be susceptible to disappointment." The man laces his fingers over the papers on his desk, staring at me intently, curiosity starting to eat into his features.

"Um, I'd rather you not see it..."  
"Well, you've been writing it in front of me all this time. I should think I would be allowed to see what I've basically been involved in." Oh gods, does he know he's in the story...? Has he read his name on the pages? I sneak a glance up at his eyes: cold, dark eyes that tell me that I'm not doing a great job at keeping my fears to myself. "Let me see that," he bellows down to me in that indulgent way that he does. It's generally clear that he has a soft spot for me, but the bite of his words still stings. Professor Snape wrests the book from my grasp, tugging it easily from my nervous fingers and begins to look over the words on the open page.

And I was just starting to get into the foreplay, too...oh gods...he's going to get me expelled...

I begin to shuffle around, closing my inkwell and capping my feather for clean transport in my bag. I get them safely inside and swish around and out of my seat, screaming at myself in my head. How could I be so stupid?!

At the very least, I won't be around to feel Snape's wrath as he reads all of this-  
"Immobulus." My muscles strain and ache against the gentle reeling of this floating feeling. But the tender nature of the Professor's charm is obvious, it having only slightly disoriented me. "He cups the weight of my left breast in his hot, comforting palm as our tongues play their own symphony...?" His genuinely groin-convulsing voice deliciously melts my erotic writing into a hot mess between my legs. And I can't even move them to indicate my discomfort. One blessing of this spell, I suppose. "I don't think I like my tongue being likened to the spiny back legs of a cricket." Ugh. Worse than the beating that I thought he would give me. He's making fun of me. And I can't even run away from it.

"Please...stop..." I try to urge out of my mouth the desire to be anywhere else right now...but this spell...although light, it's still rather crippling.

"You understand how inappropriate this is...?" I can hear the shifting of his tight clothing as he stands from his chair, placing my book down on his desk. "I would be fired for this." What...?

"But you...had nothing to do with it. It's...It's all me." At least I kind of got that out in one piece.

"And yet there's no way to prove that, is there...? Clearly...we're going to have to do something about this." My throat swallows around an extra hard lump as he takes those slow, methodical, _sexy_steps around his desk and toward me. He flips his body in the dramatic way that he always does when he catches someone doing something that they really shouldn't, and exposes my frozen body to the stern face of disapproval.

Never in my life have I received this gaze from him...and it's not something I ever wanted to, either. It's nearly wracking my heart with discomfort. Like I just want to brew a potion that he'd be proud of...or somehow get him into Professor Quirrell's position. Anything so that he can look at me again without that nasty twinge at the corner of his eyes.

"Of course, sir. Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to offend you. Honest."

He says nothing in response, only takes out his wand and mutters the counter spell in that lusciously deep, rolling bass of his voice. _Ugh_. Just want to hear him say my name. My proper name...

And that just makes me more wet.

"Professor..." He whips around again, shutting the door with a few strides and locks it, placing an incantation on the thing so powerful that drips of sparkling golden blue seep away from the door and around every nook and cranny of the room. It reminds me of sealant for whatever reason. _Perhaps a very good reason_.

Um. Are you going to kill me, Professor? Because I think that would be worse for your career than the ramblings of a hormonal, socially repressed eighteen year old.

"Does anyone else know you write these...stories...?"

"No. I have no friends, remember?" He turns around again, the same dissatisfied expression on his face.

"Hard to imagine why." If not for his tone I would have thought that was hurtful...but the sincerity in his throat is giving me chills. Does he actually care about me? "You're clever, intelligent, respect only those who deserve it...you break the rules to get what you want..." Wait...when did he catch me breaking school rules...? "Pity the Sorting Hat didn't place you in Slytherin...you might have felt much better in _my_ house." Well, I hardly think that's the issue, Professor, but I won't ruin all of this wonderful praise with that technicality.

"Your house..." Instantly imagining myself in some strange apron, handing him cakes that I have just baked...cakes laced with aphrodisiacs at least. And baking _must_ be a science that he appreciates, considering its chemistry-related elements.

"I _do_ take quite a bit of pride in it, yes." He leans in toward my still body, no charm needed, and pulls my eyes into a stranglehold grasp, the gravity of them drawing me into a devastating loss of feeling. Oh god, his eyes make me numb...How can a professor be doing this to me? How can _this_ professor be doing this to me? Then again, I do find him attractive, but every other student in this school seems to hate him. "As far as what to do about the writings."

He steps away from me and places a hand on my shoulder, dragging me with him back to his desk.

"I think...I think perhaps you write this story because you are frustrated." He steps a little further and pushes me very slightly in an attempt to get me onto the wooden thing that I've sat in front of for the past four years in my spare time. And I comply, hopping up on his workspace after carefully placing the papers in a stack next to where my hindquarters now sits. "Perhaps it's because you've looked across these tables," he takes a single finger and points at the conjoined area between our tables, still no smile to his lips, "for the better part of your time here at Hogwarts and wished that you were able to sit a little bit closer to me." He replaces his hand at his side, the billowing of his cape eating it up in darkness as the gentle flicker of his many candles dances across his face. Is it nighttime already? When did that happen...? "I...would be lying if I said I had no idea how you felt."

His voice is oddly quiet. And not like his usual dance among the tonalities of his voice, no...no this is quite different. It's almost meek, like he's stabbing himself in the heart by telling me this. Well...he's certainly taking a risk by doing so. He wouldn't have to wait that much longer for this to not even be an issue...

"Professor."

"Yes, Miss Branson...?"

"Are you going to tell Professor Flitwick...?" He ponders my words for a moment, probably wondering whether he should let the Head of the Ravenclaw House know that I should be punished...leaving out the true reasoning, of course.

"No," he finally says, "that would not be wise...and wouldn't be prudent to my...des_i_res..." I feel another hard lump conjure itself within the confines of my throat. A lump that I try again to swallow.

"Your...desires, sir...?"  
"Yes. And stop calling me sir." Professor Snape pulls his chair out from being so close to the desk and takes a seat in it, dignified and regal in all of his movements. "At least for the next few hours." Something of a smirk begins to tease against the left corner of his mouth at his correction. Either he's seriously looking forward to...well, it could be anything that he's got planned for me, really, anything to get me to stop writing these stories...or if he's elated at the prospect of me calling him sir again, being able to hold that kind of power over me still, I have no clue. But this moment of happiness looks very good on him. A wrapping feeling begins to take over the structure of my stomach as I look into his nearly crinkling, ebony eyes...it would seem he definitely has done a lot to deserve whatever is going to give him joy from this encounter.

I feel my shoulders hunch and my lips curl up, stupidly, at the butterflies in my stomach. I haven't felt this way since Jared Muller asked me to the Vernal Ball in fifth year. It was a terrible date, but it still made me feel absolutely special to be asked by the hottest guy in Hogwarts. That's when I still hung out with people...

"Or am I wrong in assuming that these stories are actual fantasies of yours...?" He leans forward a bit, startling me out of my reverie, hand on his wand, apparently ready to hit me with a memory charm.

"You're right, Professor." I nod, vacantly, watching his hand intently, "I was just wondering what you did to the door." The Professor stares at me for just a few moments before his face nearly crinkles in confusion.

"It is an auditory charm. When applied, it can muffle even the loudest cries into complete silence...from the other side of the object that it is applied to."  
"And you bathed the entire room in it..."

"Yes..." Professor Snape lets the 's' linger like he has suddenly taken the form of his House Mascot. "Nothing we utter can be heard." So what was the confusion in his features for...? Was I supposed to have guessed that...?

"I can...stop writing them, Professor. You don't need to punish me." The man stays silent for a while...and my eyes dart around the room in an attempt to fill my head with anything but this absence of speech.

"Can you _really_ just _stop_...?" The true answer to this inquiry is stabbing itself into my chest, and the bleeding that it's causing twists my tongue into honesty.

"No..." The silence pervades the walls of my inner-ears again, but I can feel the undeniable beckoning of his gaze...and I answer it. As soon as our vision meets, I simply lose all self control: "It's just that I don't want you to do anything that you don't need to, and really this is all just my problem. It has nothing to do with you, Professor, I mean, it does with the fact that you're completely irresistible, to me at least, and I find myself in a very difficult predicament, since I'm still technically a student, and much younger than you, but it isn't like you're old exactly, just at an age when it might not be appropriate to be dating someone who will have just finished school. But then again, I only have a few more months left until it wouldn't be a problem to try and woo you, but-woo, that's not exactly the right word to use here-anyway, I mean, if you're actually interested, which I can't fathom you would be, there would be no point in breaking societal rules just to...um..." Fogginess begins to cloud my thoughts as the words stop flowing from my loose lips. Just the thought of this man touching me...just the thought of this man locking those supple rosy lips to my own...

"Are you finished...?" Carefully, his words break me from the dazed daydream that I had somehow just fallen into. Did he do that...? Or was that my own lust making me into a fool...?

"I-I...I guess...?" My cheeks bloom with dull heat as I pull my head away from his, shame hunching my body language.

"Not a very complete thought, Miss Branson. Let's try again-_Why_ would you not be able to stop?"

"Are you really going to make me say it...?"

"If you can write about it, I think it's safe to say that you have the right words all clambering about in your throat, ready to speak about it...especially when I would be the only one to hear you." My hands twist in my lap as I stare at them, the only real evidence now of my uneasiness.

"I...I like you, Professor." The fidgeting in my lap stops in an easing sort of way, while I find the courage to look the man in the eyes...the ebony depths of this man's tortured soul. "I think I've actually liked you since first year, but that's a little bit weird, I guess, since I was so young...ah..." His gaze does not falter...and I'm working _so_ hard not to let our vision break.

"So...for seven years you have watched me..." He pauses, his lips parting meaningfully before he closes them again, apparently rejecting the words that threatened to come out just now. "For seven years you have written these stories..."  
"No! No, I only started writing them last year..." Because that makes it _any_better.

"So there are more than one..." My shoulders hunch again as his tone takes that Slytherin sort of arrogance. But it doesn't sound bad coming from him...what have I gotten myself into...? Didn't he used to be a Death Eater? I mean...that's the word around campus... "How many are there, Miss Branson?"

"Only a few...I only spend time writing them when I've done all my studying..."

"**How**...**many**...**are**...**there**?" The man stands from his seated position, towering over me for a moment as he finishes his final word. His hands come down onto his desk on either side of me, caressing the wood like I wish he would caress me: lithe fingers stroking in slow half moon shapes until his face is right up next to mine, letting the delicately strong palms rest quite near my posterior as he does so. Commandingly, the Professor dips his nose down and into the tiny crook between my cheek and the edge of my nose before pulling back just enough to lock eyes with me again.

What kind of sane urging on is that? It mostly just makes me want to push him back into his chair and ride him for the rest of the night.

"Three...Professor."

"_Only_ three...?"

"It's not _only_." I can feel my eyes narrow as he pricks in at my pride. "They're good stories...dreams that I've had..." And this seems to shatter the stillness in his features; his eyebrows raise just a centimeter but it completely changes the shape of his face, the tone of it. He seems...shocked, like I read his mind or brewed the perfect potion...

"Dreams." With his speech, those shapely black rows of hair above his eyes smooth out, letting his skin relax back into near porcelain.

"Yes. Well...perhaps not _exactly_ like the dreams. But they're close. I woke up from the ones that I could remember with any clarity at all and wrote down the basics...filled them in when I had the chance later on..." Professor Snape's face remains close to mine, static and pensive.

And here I go losing myself in those deep pools of entrancement that he no doubt calls his eyes. I can't help but imagine him leaning in to touch his lips to mine...so I guess that's why I feel his face getting closer to my own...is it? Oh gods, I'm moving toward him...and he's staying still...do I have the guts to actually kiss him...? I mean..._oh_ gods...

"Ah..." My lips part with want, greedy, tiring want. And my brain feels like it has finally stopped working, like all of that extra studying has finally caught up with me...but my head continues to slide toward his, chin angling upward to find just the right crook-  
"Stop..." Whispered, anxious huffs eke out of his terse lips, set ajar like he was ready to let our tongues do that cricket thing that he was just making fun of me for...

"I'm sorry, sir-"  
"_Don't_," he pauses for just the smallest second but it instills some sort of fear in me that I just can_not_ begin to comprehend, "call me sir." He rips the heat of his face away from me, exposing me to the surrounding air of his office...which is rather cold, now that I have something absolutely smouldering to compare it to. "You were always so good at following my instructions. Have you suddenly become averse to obedience...?"

"N-no! I respect you...so I want to follow your orders...Professor..."

"Then call me Severus." He takes a step away from me, picking up the notebook that he read that tiny passage from and flips to the first page. Really? You're just going to make me sit here while you read the entirety of it?

"Um...I don't think that's appropriate..."  
"And this is...?" With that all-too-familiar dramatic flare, he flips the billow of his cape up and lends me that tiny,_gorgeous_ smirk as he sits down on his chair like it's some throne to his Kingship.

"Fair point..." I take a deep breath and straighten my back, which has somehow hunched itself without my permission. "Fine, Sev...Severus." The scrolling of his critical eyes pauses for a moment...just like it looks like his breathing has done... "Only as long as you call me Clara."

"Do you think that you're in a position to bargain...?" Um...

"Yes, considering I could just walk up to Professor Dumbledore and tell him that you locked me in a room with the imperturbable charm and groped me." Dripping with knowledge of how hard I would find the very action to be, the professor's eyes drag themselves away from the notebook to deliver unto me what is probably the most emotional gaze I have ever caught him giving anyone. It is a very 'you can't be serious' sort of look, but the sheer fact that I'm making him feel anything at all is...doing major damage to my heart, head and loins..."Or...something like that..." The man rolls his eyes, amusement almost tugging the corners of his desirable lips toward the high ceilings of the room.

"Of course, Clara," rolling waves of booming sound enter my body and wrack the poor thing with shivers that I could never hope to have drilled into me by any other man...and I certainly wouldn't hope for anything like that from anyone else...I just want you, Professor Sn-...Severus..."But I think for now, it would be best if I...hold onto this. I'll look it over and formulate a fitting punishment for you."

Wait...what?

"It's nearly lights out, and I would hate to be asked what you were doing in my office so late. Even if I said we got carried away in our books, I think the other professors might begin to wonder." With a deep snapping, Professor Snape closes the book in his hand and stands, motioning for me to do the same. "I don't think I need to tell you this, Clara, but the use of first names will _only_ be allowed when _that_ charm hits _that_ door."

"Of course," now that I'm on my feet, leaning up to the large, black-clad professor is simple...but it's still making my heart race, "..._Severus_." I touch the tip of my nose to his, whispering his name with all of the passion that's toiling about in the core of my body, enticing from him a weak groan that just makes it even more intense...Professor Snape's eyelids fall heavy over those seductive orbs while I linger for a minute, about to finally let our lips touch-

And with that, my body twists itself away from him, swiftly scooping up my bag and deviously leaving him wanting in his office..._stunned_ in his own office...

It's going to be fun breaking about twenty school rules..._with_ a professor...


End file.
